


my worried mind

by a_good_soldier



Series: HANDLING EXPRESSIONS OF WINCHESTER EMOTION: A FIELD GUIDE (or: supernatural s12 codas) [9]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Episode: s12e19 The Future, Gen, M/M, Mixtape, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-29
Updated: 2017-04-29
Packaged: 2018-10-25 06:09:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10758309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_good_soldier/pseuds/a_good_soldier
Summary: Dean gave Cas a mixtape, Sam is on a research bender, I am constantly screaming, etc, etc.





	my worried mind

**Author's Note:**

> dean gave cas a mixtape. that's pretty much the plot of this fic. i really wanted to have an actual dean/cas interaction in here but my brain was not having it. i hope u enjoy anyway <3

Dean gave Cas his top Zepp tracks, and the guy steals his fuckin’ Colt. Led Zeppelin’s _sacred_ , man, even Sam with his hippie Enya crap knows that.

Cas has seen every part of his soul, no matter how much Dean would like to forget about that. Dean just… thought he’d get the message. Guess not.

They’re driving along back to Lebanon, because Cas and Kelly (and wasn’t that a kick in the gut, seeing Kelly slip her hand in his like it belonged there) are in the wind and Dean’s still shocky from the fractured arm that isn’t. Dean would pop in Physical Graffiti, but well, the Plant/Page combo’s a little loaded for him right now.

AC/DC’s still easy and loud, though, so in it goes. Sam’s half-asleep and Dean takes juvenile pleasure in seeing his flinch as the first chord blasts its way into the car. “C’mon, Dean,” he whines, like the baby he is.

“Shut it, bitch.” Dean’s waiting for it, so maybe that’s why it feels like it takes an age and a half for Sam to mumble back, _jerk_. He says it, though, so at least that’s still there.

Dean’s got only one person he can rely on, and he’s better off if he doesn’t forget that.

“So what’s the deal with you and Cas?” Sam asks, and Dean kinda wishes he’d let him sleep.

“Nothin’.” Road’s empty, so Dean doesn’t even have an excuse to make Sam stop distracting him. Still, he tries, “Lemme concentrate on driving, ‘kay? Sooner we get home, sooner I get to have a goddamn beer.”

That just makes Sam even more concerned, but hey, kid’s off his back about the Cas thing. “When’s the last time you spent a whole day sober?”

When Mom was around, or maybe back when Bobby was still alive to give him death glares every time he so much as looked at the liquor cabinet. Yikes. “Uh—”

“Whatever.” Sam’s disappointment cuts deep, and it’s scary and immediate. Sometimes Dean remembers that most people don’t live with the constant fear that everyone around them will leave, but then again, most people don’t have the experience to back it up.

Of course, when Dean gets scared, he gets mad, and he can see it happening and can’t do anything to stop it. “How are you pissed at _me_? Cas is the one who’s out there partying it up with Lucifer’s baby.”

Sam just huffs out a breath, and stares out the window. Yeah, okay. Dean drives on, and pretends he’s driving towards some kind of future, no matter how much it feels like he’s just been going in circles his whole damn life.

Twenty minutes pass, and they’re twenty minutes closer to the bunker. Home. Been years, and Dean still gets a little weird about going to sleep without being able to hear Sam’s breathing.

Sam’s silent right up until they pull into the garage. Doesn’t feel peaceful at all.

* * *

Cas is in his room. He’s saying all the stuff he said before — that he’s sorry, that he wanted to return this — and Dean says all the stuff he said before too, says it was a gift, says Cas oughta keep it. This time, though, Dean can feel his hands shaking, and when he starts telling Cas about being Team Free Will and getting it done, and Cas says he’d like that, Dean— Dean doesn’t say he’d like a beer.

Instead, Dean feels his hand come up to Cas’s shoulder, and Cas’s mouth opens, just a bit, and Dean— Dean leans in, and Cas doesn’t lean back, and when their lips touch, it feels like more than just a kiss. Feels like it’s always been about this, always been about him desperately finding a way to keep Cas around, to keep Cas with them, and _this,_ this is how he does it. How he does it right.

When he wakes up and two empties roll off the bed with him, Dean dismisses it as the drunk imagination of a sad, sad man.

* * *

“I don’t think this changes anything,” Sam says through a mouthful of eggs, which _Dean_ personally scrambled for him, thank you very much. “Look, Cas is under a spell or something, but that doesn’t mean it’s hopeless. We can still fix it. I was looking at the lore last night—”

“Jesus, kid, you sleep at all?” Now Dean feels kinda bad for keeping him up with two hours of consecutive AC/DC, but it’s not his fault Sam doesn’t recognize what exhaustion feels like.

Sam chugs down a cup of coffee. Dean regrets giving him the caffeinated stuff. “Yeah, no worries,” like his eyes don’t look bruised from how dark they are. “Anyway, point is, the Cas thing is just— an extra complication. I think if we can get a hold of him, maybe separate him from the baby while we talk to him, we can still do the grace extraction thing. It’ll work.”

Dean doesn’t think that’s true, but Dean also doesn’t think arguing with Sam in his fevered research haze is gonna help. “You gotta sleep, Sam,” Dean tells him, and considers tranqing him, even though he can already see the betrayed face Sam would give him afterwards.

“No, c’mon, let’s just—”

“Sam. There’s nothing we can do.” Dean doesn’t like admitting defeat, but the board’s already laid out and it doesn’t look like a win for Team Free Will anytime soon. This late in the game, looks like all they can hope for is mitigating losses.

“I don’t believe that.” Sam’s stubborn as a mule at his most lucid, even worse when he’s tired, and Dean hates himself for it but he kind of wants a little booze right now, just to take the edge off. It’s nine in the goddamn morning.

“Sam—”

“Cas’d listen to you, I just know it.” Sam’s done shoveling food into his mouth, and walks past a stunned Dean to wash his plate in the sink. “Seriously, man, if we can just get eyes on ‘em we’ve got it.”

“Okay,” Dean says, because arguing with optimism makes him feel like more of a monster than he already is. “Fine, whatever. Can you take a nap?”

“I mean it, Dean,” and Dean’s starting to realize that Sam’s on about two, maybe even three days of caffeine replacing sleep, and that’s definitely more concerning than Dean’s alcohol… uh, thing. “F’real, you and Cas, just make up and you’re good, okay, you’ll be— it’s all gonna be okay—”

“Whoa, Nelly, settle down there.” Dean leads Sam back to his room once Sam starts to sway, and Jesus, this is what Dean was talking about, the not-sleeping and the research. “Sleep, okay?”

Seems like standing and walking for so long has actually pushed Sam past his limits, because he passes out on his bed with nothing but some mumbled Enochian.

The two of them are what stands between the universe and annihilation. That’s how it’s been for years and years, feels like, but they’ve been getting worse and worse at it. Last time they needed a literal deus ex machina to pull them out.

So it fuckin’ goes.

* * *

When Dean was eleven, he discovered the magic of a blank cassette. Timing it just right so that he’d pick up the first twang of Gallows Pole without the faint drums of Out On The Tiles beforehand was hard going, but he managed to make the perfect tape with only one fuckup. At this point, he’s more jarred when the initial drums of Moby Dick _don’t_ cut off after half a second.

1990

Dean takes out the tape to flip it for the tenth time while he’s still learning to drive, and John grabs it out of his hands to lock it in the glove compartment with the guns and tells him that when the driver’s being cruel and unusual, shotgun gets to take extreme measures. Dean never told Sam about that exception to the driver picks the music rule.

1995

Dean’s sixteen and hungry, and Sam’s twelve and cold. Dean won’t touch him because he doesn’t wanna make him dirty, just piles more blankets on him and hopes they make it through the night. Dad left them in one of the Dakotas, Dean can’t remember which, and Dean figures he forgot you need money to put the heat on. Or maybe Dad thought Dean could take care of Sam, the way he always says he can. The way he _does_ , even if it’s not hustling pool like Dad thinks it is. Dean gets his Walkman and shoves in his top 13 traxx with numb fingers, and if Ramble On gives him the urge to hotwire a car and not look back, he just looks at the hair poking out from under the blanket pile to remind him where he belongs. This isn’t one of Dad’s tests, Dean reminds himself. It’s trust.

2001

Sam’s in California, Dad’s in West Virginia, and Dean’s not with either of them, because apparently when you’re twenty-two and the one person you were supposed to take care of fucked off on your watch, you become dead weight. So Dean’s not with Dad. Dean’s in a bar. Dean’s in a really, really shitty bar, and he has no idea what side of the country he’s on, let alone what state. He’s too drunk to do anything after last call but stumble over to his car, turn on the heat, and let Robert Plant sing him to sleep.

2009

When Dean comes back to 2009, back from that hellish 2014 that seems more likely than not, he puts in his top 13 Zepp tracks and rests his head on the Impala’s steering wheel, just for a second. He’s going to die. Sam’s going to die. And with them, everything that’s theirs — which is this car, pretty much, and that’s about it — will go too. Dean likes to think that whoever’s left will make sure Baby goes to a good home, maybe back to Bobby’s, but he’s not deluding himself. If anyone survives, an old car won’t be first on their list of priorities. So Dean closes his eyes in the second home he’s ever known, and when Page’s guitar starts crooning in Ten Years Gone, Dean lets himself pretend, just for a song, that he’ll get to keep something.

2016

Amara’s gone and Dean is safe. It’s the stupidest thing he’s ever thought, but that’s how he feels — the pull, the urge to be close to her, without his— without him _wanting it_ — it’s over. Dean’s free. And Mom’s back. They’re driving back to the bunker, and Dean figures now’s as good a time as any to pop in his favorite Zeppelin tracks. He looks over at Mom, who looks disturbed but still gives him a smile, and when both sides of the tape are through and the Eagles start rolling through the Impala’s speakers, he feels lighter than he ever has before.

2017

“I couldn’t find you,” Cas says. It’s the same conversation they’ve been having ever since Sam and Dean escaped from prison a week ago, an unending back and forth. Cas says he couldn’t find Dean, Dean says he doesn’t give a shit, Cas says that’s even more concerning, and Dean drinks. Come to think of it, that’s how most of his conversations with Cas end.

So Dean doesn’t say anything this time, just digs through his tape collection until he finds what he’s looking for. Deans top 13 Zepp TRAXX.

Maybe it’s time for them to find a new home.

“Here,” he says, shoving it into Cas’s hands. Cas cups them, like he’s holding a baby bird or something, and Dean rolls his eyes.

“Dean, I can’t— What is this?”

“A cassette tape. It plays music.” And Cas gives him that look, the _shut the fuck up_ look, and frankly, Dean’s just happy to see that kicked puppy expression off his face. “It’s— I just. Just take it, man, okay?”

Cas looks at the tape in front of him more closely. “Your top 13… ‘Zepp traxx’.” Dean can still feel the air quotes, even if Cas has been trained out of making them with his fingers.

“Led Zeppelin. One of the best bands in… ever.” Dean swallows. “I just— I don’t know. Even if you can’t find me, you’ll have… that.” Jesus Christ. “Whatever, man, it’s just so you have something to listen to in whatever you’re driving nowadays. It’s stupid, never mind.”

“No, I—” and Cas looks at him, and Jesus, he’s so… so _earnest_. Dean’s done for. “Thank you. I appreciate this, Dean.”

Dean looks at his childhood, cradled in Cas’s callused hands, like it’s fragile. Worth protecting. He swallows. “Yeah, no— no prob, man, I’m just— gotta go.” And, predictably, Dean grabs himself a drink. He feels bad about it, though, so at least that’s something.

* * *

“Oh man, forgot to ask you,” Sam says as he stumbles into the kitchen, rubbing sleep out of his eyes. He was out for a good ten hours by Dean’s count. “Found something in Cas’s truck when we were driving.”

“Ain’t a question, Sammy,” Dean says as he flips the patty. There are three cooked ones next to him, waiting for the two he’s still working on in the pan.

“Thanks, asshole. I was _gonna_ say, I found your mixtape. In Cas’s truck.”

Dean transfers the burger patties to the plate, and sets about toasting some buns. “Didn’t hear a question in there either.”

“Thought it was implied.” Sam grabs a plate and a beer for each of them. “Seriously, dude. You wanna tell me something?”

“Figured I grew out of it and Cas needed to be introduced to some good music. The end.” Dean takes Sam’s plate out of his hand and piles three burgers on it. “Here, fix ‘em up yourself.”

“But you make ‘em better,” Sam whines, and Jesus, Dean really has spoiled him. Finally, they make their way to the table to eat their food, and Sam gives him a thumbs up after the first bite. Dean totally doesn’t feel an inexplicable warmth at the sight. Whatever.

Sam practically inhales his first two burgers and is nearly halfway through his third one by the time Dean’s done his first. “Mkay,” Sam mumbles, “anyway, so, Cas.”

“Don’t talk with your mouth full,” Dean says. Sam snorts. “Also, I have no idea what you’re talking about, and it’s totally normal to give your friends cassette tapes anyway.”

Sam eyes him. “I was gonna talk about how we’re gonna find him, but okay.”

Dean closes his eyes. “Come on.”

“Dude, whatever, it’s fine, I promise not to be a dick about it.” Sam washes down the rest of his third burger with half his beer. “All right. He’s still got a tracker in his phone. Should still work.”

“Yeah, if he’s still on Earth.” Dean pushes his half eaten burger to Sam, who starts chowing down. He’s lost his appetite. “Christ, Sam, I don’t— I don’t know what to do here.” He takes a slug of his beer, and resists the urge to get something stronger. 

“We’ll find him,” Sam says. “Don’t worry. We always do.”

“And it’s always too late.” The guy still has his goddamn mixtape. You don’t let someone walk out of your life like this when he’s still got your damn playlist with him. And yeah, Dean’s still talking about the playlist, not— not anything else. (Like his heart.) Shut up.

“Not this time.” Sam leans back, satisfied, and Dean thinks he’d almost rather go back to the days when they were both starving all the time, rather than whatever the hell this is. At least then, things were clear. Dean knew his place. “I already used the tracker.” Of course he did. Typical Sam.“Tracked him to a motel near McCook. We could be there in two hours, give or take.”

“All right then, pack it up, let’s go.” Dean grabs his stuff, makes sure Baby’s all loaded up, and tries to feel excited about what’s coming. They’ll get Cas, and then what? What does Dean have that Kelly Kline’s demon baby can’t fight?

“We’ll get him,” Sam says, clapping Dean on the shoulder as he passes by. Maybe that’s all Dean needs to know right now. They’ll get him. The rest is yet to be determined, and hey. They’re Team Free Will. That’s how they like it.

**Author's Note:**

> my headcanon for DEAN'S TOP 13 ZEPP TRAXX. ok, i admit it, these are basically just my top zepp traxx, but i narrowed it down based on what i think dean would like, okay? okay! in chronological order because i'm too lazy to do anything other than that.
> 
> 1) good times bad times  
> 2) babe i’m gonna leave you  
> 3) what is and what should never be  
> 4) heartbreaker  
> 5) ramble on  
> 6) since i’ve been loving you  
> 7) gallows pole  
> 8) tangerine  
> 9) when the levee breaks  
> 10) the rain song  
> 11) in my time of dying  
> 12) ten years gone  
> 13) i’m gonna crawl


End file.
